


Cuddles and Painkillers

by isnt_it_pretty



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Fluff, Headaches & Migraines, Hurt/Comfort, Love Confessions, M/M, Pain
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-08
Updated: 2019-05-08
Packaged: 2020-02-28 09:57:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,825
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18754099
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/isnt_it_pretty/pseuds/isnt_it_pretty
Summary: Where Jon gets a migraine at work, and Martin is there to help.





	Cuddles and Painkillers

His headache pounded in a way that was near unexplainable. A burning agony with no end. He was hot, sweating, but there was no way to control his temperature when everything was so painful.

The room was blissfully dark. Jon had managed to turn off the bright florescent lights when he’d first noticed the pulsing in his skull. His bag was spilled across the desk, devoid of medication. Usually he had some on him, but it’d so been long since his last migraine that he’d fallen out of the habit.

Between the travel and kidnapping, he’d missed almost every dose of his preventative medication. It was a wonder it had taken as long as it had for the blistering pain of a migraine to appear, hot metal pressing itself into his brain.

Jon couldn’t move, not really. Every twitch sent a new wave of agony burning through his body. His stomach churned and he briefly wondered how long it would be before he got sick.

Eventually he ended up on the concrete floor; his thoughts here too incoherent to remember doing it himself. The cool ground helped the heat radiating from his body. His arm was curled around a garbage for when he invariably vomited.

Even in the dark room, he kept his eyes closed. Movement sent a shooting pain through him. He wanted it to end, he'd do anything for it to end. The longer it went on the harder it got to keep himself sane. Conscious thoughts were nearly impossible. It was too much, everything was too much-

The door opened slowly, and Jon cringed at the sound. 

“Jon?” Somebody asked, he couldn’t place the voice through the fog, but it was familiar. It was too loud, too bright.. Light flooded into the room from the open door.

“He must have left for the day,” somebody else said. He wanted to call to them, to help him. Kill him if they must. Do anything to end this pure, blinding torment. He couldn’t. He couldn’t focus enough to form the words.

He must have made some noise, a groan of pain, because one of the people stepped forward, the faint footsteps enough to make him wince. “Jon?” they asked again.

Suddenly the room was filled with bright fluorescent lighting. A new wave or pain, stronger than any so far, rippled through his head.

He may have screamed as he tried his best to shield his eyes. Somebody was at his side a moment later. Even with his eyes closed, trying to fend off the light, he could feel their presence.

“Jon, what’s wrong? Are you hurt?” Panic. He should know that voice, should be able to place it, but nothing made sense as light danced across his closed eyes. His stomach churned. 

When a hand was placed on his shoulder, that was enough. Jon sat straight up. The pulsing pain from doing so was irrelevant as he pulled garbage can to his chest, and vomited. He hadn’t eaten all day, and the acid that came up burned his throat. He was crying.

The hand found his back, and started rubbing gentle circles. “The lights” the voice was hushed, but urgent. “Turn off the lights.”

A moment later, it was dark.

He fell back, meaning to land on the floor and curl into a ball again. He collided with Martin instead. Martin. That’s who they were. 

“Shh,” he whispered as he lowered Jon back to the floor, his head rested on Martin’s thigh. 

Somewhere Jon supposed he should care. He didn’t.

A hand found his Jon’s forehead. “You’re overheating.” It was a statement. “Do you have any medication?”

He tried to shake his head, but stopped. It motion made his even more nauseous. “N-No,” he whispered, trying to focus on the words through the pain.

“Damn,” Martin cursed softly. “Barisa,” he said, trying to be as quiet as possible. “First aid kit. Grab the strongest pain killers we have. Water bottle too, and an icepack if we have any.”

There was no reply, but Jon could hear retreating footsteps.

His head was still pounding as he curled into a ball against Martin’s leg. His neck was stiff and painful, but it was better to rest on something other than the floor. He moaned in pain, it was too much. “Make it stop,” he whispered. “ _ Please _ .”

He couldn’t see the Martin’s face, but he heard them suck in a breath. A hand found Jon’s hair.  “Do you need to go to the hospital?”

Probably. Maybe. Yes. But the idea of moving seemed like too much, hospitals were loud and bright. He’d have to be moved from the archives outside in the bright sun and- “No.” His voice was so shaky he barely recognized it. 

Martin said something else, but he wasn’t listening. It was too agonizing to try and focus. He wasn’t sure how long he sat like that, in pain so intense he had no words for it. Martin’s hand ran through his hair. “Shhh,” he said, “Just a few more minutes.” It helped a little.

Barisa was back. “I found Tylenol-3 and Advil.” Jon heard the sound of pills, and a plastic water bottle. “No ice packs, but I can bring some cold water and a cloth?”

There was no reply again, but the footsteps disappeared.

“Jon?” Martin’s voice was directed back at him. “I have some pain killers, but you need to sit up, okay?”

He didn’t want to move. Didn’t want to risk it getting worse, but Martin was shifting. He sat. 

“Here,” there was a crack of a water bottle opening. He put it in Jon’s hands. Hovered close to make sure he didn’t drop it “Drink. Small sips.”

He did as he was told, and let the water soothe his throat. His stomach wasn’t happy with the feeling, but he supposed throwing up water was better than nothing.

“Give me your hand,” the room was still dark, he could tell even with his eye closed. Although there was likely still enough light for Martin to see. 

Jon held out his hand towards the voicem Three pills were placed in his hand.

“One is Tylenol-3, two are advil,” Jon heard the sound of bottles being closed. He was leaning against Martin’s chest. “If it doesn't go away in an hour I’m taking you to the hospital.”

He made a sound of understanding. Normally he’d take more than the recommended amount of painkillers, but he wasn’t about to complain.

Martin made him sip more water before finally laying down again. They sat in silence. 

“Here,” another voice said a couple minutes later. Basira was back. Something was placed to his left. “Anything else?” There was a harshness in it.

“No,” Martin didn’t seem bothered.“I think we’re okay. Thank you.” There was footsteps leading away. “Close the door? The light and sound-” there was no reply as the door clicked shut. Martin let out a breath. “Okay,” 

Water dripped next to him, before a damp, and blissfully cold, cloth was placed on his forehead.

“Somebody said migraines are caused by too much blood in the brain,” Martin told him, voice barely about a whisper. His hand was running through his hair again. “Cold makes blood vessels constrict, pushing it out. In the very least it’s numbing.”

Jon hmmed, mostly at the feeling. His head still pulsed with agony, but the the cold was helping. Or at least distracting him.

The hand moved from his hair to his shoulder, and was joined by the other. They ran along his neck. He cringed in pain.

“Stress and tension really doesn’t help either.” there was a frown in his voice. He held the muscle between his neck and shoulder. Jon could feel himself relaxing into the touch. 

Martin pulled his hands along his neck, moving upwards, before moving down again. Eventually they came to base of his skull, and rested there, pushing against what Jon assumed to be small muscles. He was a bit lacking on that aspect of human biology. 

He wasn’t sure how long it went on for when the hands stopped, and he almost made a noise at the lack of contact. The cloth on his forehead was removed, and he heard it dunked in water again. It was placed over his eyes this time. 

Martin hummed quietly, just barely audible, as he massaged along Jon’s scalp. 

He let out a sigh of relief. The pain was still there, but it was getting easier to ignore.

* * *

At some point he must have fallen asleep, because when he opened his eyes, he vaguely recognized the shapes in the storage room. It was odd, because he was sure he was in his office last...

He reached for his forehead, and felt a damp cloth against it. His memory was fuzzy, as it usually became with migraines like that, but he remembered somebody helping him.

His head still ached, and he struggled to focus his eyes fully, but it wasn’t nearly as bad as before.

There were voices outside, but he didn’t strain to hear them. Instead he relaxed against the cot, and let out a deep breath.

He was dozing when the door opened again. The light flooding in made him cringe, although he didn’t feel the need to cry out. Definitely an improvement. 

“Hey,”  Martin said softly. “Are you awake?”

He blinked a few times and turned to see him.. Martin looked concerned, but he had a soft smile.

“Yes.” His voice was hoarse and quiet. He didn’t move.

“Here,” Martin said. He passed him another plastic water bottle. “Drink.” He grabbed the cloth off him and put it in a bowl next to the bed.

Jon nodded and pushed himself up. His head pulsed. Only after taking a few sips did he realized how thirsty he was. He’d drank about half the bottle when he finally stopped for air.

“Still in pain?” Martin asked. There was a tenderness in his voice.

He nodded and put his head in his hands.

“It’s only been a couple hours,” Martin replied, but he handed Jon a bottle anyways. “Tylenol-3. I only gave you one to start, but you can take up to two.”

Jon nodded and grabbed the pills. “Thank you,” he said when he was done.

“How long have you gotten migraines for?” Martin asked. There was genuine curiosity in his voice. 

He thought about it. “I think I was fifteen? I remember lying in bed. I couldn’t move. My grandmother took me to the A&E after three days of it.” It wasn’t a good memory. “How did you know it was a migraine?” 

Martin shrugged. “My mum gets them. It's pretty obvious to tell when you know what to look for.”

Jon nodded and leaned back against the wall. He closed his eyes. “What time is it?”

“Around 5:45 I think?” he said it so nonchalantly that Jon almost didn’t clue in that work had ended almost an hour before. “Everybody else went home a bit early today. And Elias stopped by not long ago.”

He didn’t ask why Elias was there; wasn’t sure he wanted to know. “And you didn’t?” he didn’t know why he felt so panicked. It’s not like he had anything to do other than sleep off the remainder of his migraine. Maybe it was the idea of Martin staying there so late.

“I-I wanted to make sure you were okay.” He was flushed. “You scared me when I saw you laying on the ground. I was worried. You-you woke up a few times but didn’t really seem coherent until now, so I stayed.”

Jon gave him the decency of looking away until he composed himself. “Well, thank you. I’m not  _ entirely  _ sure what I would have done had you not... intervened, when you did.”

Martin beamed in such a way that made Jon smile in return. 

They sat in silence. Jon leaned against the wall as the medication did its job. It numbed the pain, but he could feel exhaustion pulling at him.

It was Martin who broke the silence first. “You should go home, it’d probably be better to sleep in a proper bed... and maybe take tomorrow off?” the second half was phrased as a question.

Jon sighed, and rubbed his temples. It was true, but he could feel his mind disconnecting. An unfortunate side effect of opioids. “You’re right.” He made no move to get up.

Martin seemed surprised at that, but his brows knit together in concern. “Still hurts?”

He nodded.

“Maybe you should go to A&E, just to be safe-”

“I’m fine. It’ll pass,” there was still no way he was going to sit in the waiting room for a few hours, not over a stupid migraine.

Martin looked like he wanted to say something, but was struggling to find the words. Eventually he seemed to just give up.

“Yes Martin?” he eventually prompted.

“Oh, uh,” he was turning red again. “I-I was just thinking, uh, maybe you shouldn’t be alone? In case it gets worse, or-or something...” he looked away.

Jon blinked at him, feeling more confused than anything. “You just said I shouldn’t stay here though...”

“Doyouwanttocomeover?” Martin said all at once.

“I’m sorry?” Jon asked. His mind was to frayed to sort through the jumbled words. 

Martin took a deep breath. “Do you, I mean you don’t have to, I was just thinking, with everything, that, uh,”

“Martin.”

“Would you like to, uh, come over?” his voice was high pitched at the end. Obviously nervous. 

In hindsight, Jon wasn’t sure why he was so surprised. “You want me to come over?” he repeated, dumbfounded.

“If you want to...”

“To your flat?”

“You could just say no,” he sounded hurt.

Jon sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. With each moment he could feel his pain retreating, and a foggy exhaustion replacing it. “You just caught me off guard is all. I’m not good with this sort of thing at the best of times.”

“What sort of thing?” Martin prompted. 

“People?”

That seemed to break the tension that had fallen over the room, and Martin laughed.

“No kidding!” The sound caused Jon to cringe. “Sorry,” he was quieter. 

“No, its okay” he said. His apartment was so far away, and a proper bed sounded like a Godsend at that point. “I think you’re right anyways.”

Martin perked up at his acceptance. “Really? I mean, cool. Uh, I don’t live far away, but I mean I guess you’d know that, after everything.”

Jon made a noise in response as Martin got both their belongings together. He wasn’t sure what made him accept the invitation. Maybe it was just because Martin had looked after him when he was... vulnerable. 

He followed Martin out of the institute and into the night air. It was never as fresh as he’d like in London. 

They ended up taking a taxi, and Jon was thankful. The drugs and exhaustion were weighing heavily on him.

“You can take the bed,” Martin told him as he opened the door to his flat. “How's your head?”

He made a vague noise, which was apparently answer enough.

The flat was small, although that wasn’t entirely unexpected. 

“Just let me change the sheets, and then you can lay down,” Martin told him. He carefully guided Jon to the sofa, and Jon tried not to feel a bit lost when he left the room.

It was an odd longing, but he was foggy and he hurt and Martin was being so kind.  

He was dozing when a gentle hand on his arm raised him.

“Hey,” Martin said softly. “There's clean linens on the bed. Why don’t you lay down there?”

Jon let himself be pulled up. And arm wrapped around his waist as he was helped towards what he assumed to be Martin’s bedroom.

“You’re too kind” he muttered, only half aware he was even speaking.

“Hmm?” Martin asked as he helped him sit on the bed. “I have pajamas that you can borrow. They may be a bit big.” he turned towards the dresser.

“I’ve been a bastard,” Jon told him. “I don’t deserve this.”

Martin pulled a shirt and sweatpants from the drawers. “Jon, no offense, but you’re a little high on drugs, pain, and exhaustion right now.” He walked to the bed, and hesitated.  “Can you... do you need me?”

Jon reached for his shirt and started unbuttoning it. His dexterity left something to be desired. “I shouldn’t have treated you so poorly. You just wanted to help.”

“Its okay Jon,” Martin was red as he helped, eventually pulling off the shirt to reveal Jon’s scar covered body. “I understand.” He helped Jon into an oversized t shirt, and looked away as the other changed into the sweatpants. 

Carefully, Martin helped Jon lay back in the bed. “But-”

“Hush,” he said softly as he moved Jon’s hair from his face. The act was so tender. “We can talk later. Just rest now.”

He sighed against the pillows. They were comfortable as his exhausted soaked through, and he was asleep before Martin had even pulled the blankets over him.

* * *

It was back, with a vengeance.

The room was dark, but Jon was sitting straight up. His head throbbed, and he wasn’t sure if it was this bad before or not. 

He stumbled from the bed, half crawling to the bathroom door Martin had thankfully left open. It had two entrances. One from the bedroom and one from the rest of the flat.

He made it to the toilet as his legs gave out, and he wretched; stomach revolting against the pain. 

All he’d had was water, and anything left came back up with stomach acid once again.

He spat into the toilet, breathing deeply. His brain was pulsing against the confines of his skull. 

He threw up again.

The other door opened slowly.

“Jon?” Martin’s voice was thick with sleep.

He made a noise that sounded horrifically like a sob. He just wanted it to  _ end _ . 

And then Martin was kneeling next to him, giving him a glass of water to slowly sip from, and more painkillers.

He fell into Martin’s chest cried. It was unexplainable. He felt Martin wrap his arms around his shoulders, and rock him slightly. 

“Shh,” he whispered, petting Jon’s hair. “It’ll be okay. I promise it will be okay.”

Jon wasn’t sure how long they sat like that before Martin shifted a bit.

“You should lay down,” he said softly. “Can you walk?”

His legs still felt week. “No.” 

“Okay,” Martin moved his arms until one was under Jon’s knees, and the other behind his back.

Very carefully he stood, and carried Jon back to his bed.

Jon to his credit, clung to him. He was so exhausted and foggy and in so much pain, he just wanted it all to  _ stop _ . But Martin was there an he was so caring, and grounding.

“Please don’t leave,” he whispered as Martin laid him back on the bed. “Please stay.”

There was a moment of hesitation before Martin crawled into the bed. He wrapped his arms around Jon’s chest. “Is this okay?” he asked.

Jon ‘hmm’ed in response and sank into the touch. It had been so long...

“I think I love you Martin,” he muttered quietly, meaning it.

* * *

Morning rays of sunlight spilled into the room as Jon’s eye fluttered. The blankets were a mess around him, but as he took in the room around him, he realized it wasn’t his. Memories came rushing back, and Jon found himself reaching for the other end of the bed.

It was empty.

Had it been a dream? He pushed himself up into a sitting position, and noticed the glass water next to him.

He drank it greedily.

There was sounds from the other room. Something clattered to the ground, and was followed by a soft curse.

His phone was next to the water, and read 10:23am. Fuck.

Jon stood up, and the world spun a little. He waited for it to stop before heading towards the door. They had work!

“Oh, Jon,” Martin said, surprised. He stood in the kitchen. “I’m sorry, did I wake you? I was going to make pancakes. How are you feeling?”

“We have work,” Jon replied, standing in Martin’s clothing. He could feel himself blushing.

“I already called Elias,” Martin told him. “I said I would be late, but he told me to stay with you.” He shrugged. “Do you like chocolate chips?”

“But Tim, and Melanie and-”

“Called them too.” He reached for a pan. “Do you prefer blueberry?”

“I- sure. Whichever is fine,” he sat down at the table, feeling awkward. He really did not have enough energy to argue over work. “Do you need any help?”

“Nope!” Martin replied cheerfully. He dropped what Jon assumed to chocolate chips into the batter, before mixing it. There was a click a moment later, and Martin turned to the kettle next to him. “Tea?”

“Cheers,” Jon replied as Martin put a mug in front of him.

It didn’t take long for the pancakes to finish, and Martin to place them on the table, along with syrup and butter.

“Thank you, Martin,” Jon said.

Martin beamed. “How are you feeling?”

“Better,” Jon confirmed. They settled into a slightly awkward silence as they ate. It was Jon that broke the silence. “Martin, what I said last night-”

“It’s okay, I know you were in pain-”

“I meant it,” he said quickly. “I mean, I think I did, I’m-” he sighed, running a hand through his tangled hair. “I’m not...good, with people, or emotions. Or anything other than books really. But, I was undeservingly cruel to you, and, ugh.” He groaned.

“Jon,” Martin said carefully. “You’re not serious.”

“I am!” he objected. “I’m sorry Martin. I think I do... have feelings. For you.” He bit his lip. This was not how he’d imagined this morning going.

Martin, on the other hand, looked one part shocked, and one part terrified. 

“Would you like to get dinner with me? Or something? Is that what people do?” He was grasping desperately for something, anything, to clue him into what he should say. Martin just stared at him. He could feel himself deflating, “I’m sorry-”

“Jon you bloody idiot,” Martin replied. “Can I kiss you?”

“I-excuse me?” Jon asked, caught off guard. His brain caught up a moment later. “Oh, um. Yes? If you’d like.”  _ Really  _ not how he’d imagined this morning. 

Martin stood and walked towards him. A hand slipped behind Jon’s neck, pulling him in for a gentle kiss. It was chaste, unsure, but left Jon breathless all the same.

“I would love to go to dinner with you,” he replied. “But first, you need to get a medication refill.”

Jon nodded, smiling like a damned fool as he reached for his phone.


End file.
